


Seeing Is Believing

by gerbilfluff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Belly Expansion, Comfort, Drunken Shenanigans, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Eggs, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Oviposition, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How far will Fiddleford McGucket go to win private time with the boss he's got a crush on, even if it's only with a copy of him?</p><p>As it turns out: pretty dang far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Fair warning: this one's almost pure self-indulgence on my part, written on a whim, so. Things are gonna get weird.
> 
> The following fanfic contains anal sex via ovipositors, egg-laying, moderate to extreme belly expansion, and one scene in Chapter 2 that's only dubiously consensual (don't drink and seduce in real life, folks).
> 
> Gina McGucket is the headcanon of hereissomething on Tumblr. EastGermanHatTrick is a great eggy muse. Heart hands to them both.
> 
> Gravity Falls and its characters are owned by the Disney corporation. No profit's being made from this file.
> 
> You've been warned. And if you end up being into this: high-five!

Seeing Is Believing  
by Apricot the Gerbil

Chapter 1. Deal

"I.. I don't know if I can..." Fiddleford babbled, squinching up his eyes tight behind his glasses at the feeling.

"Are you sure?" asked the Stanford-dopple crouched over him, pressing its thick prod of an ovipositor against Fiddleford's ringpiece without shame. "I'm certain you can take just a _little_ bit of me inside you, don't you think?"

"I-- want to--" stammered Fiddleford, clenching his hands to fists. "I _want_ you inside me. I just don't know if I can..."

"I _know_ you can take me in," the Shifter said in Stanford's low tone. "You can do it. Do it for _me._ SHOW me how much you want me."

Fiddleford felt the hard lump butting up against his back entrance. He tried his very best to relax, to take in this offering from his "boss"...

The first hard little mass gushed through, about the size of a ping-pong ball, propelled by the pocket of thick, slimy ooze laid around it. Fiddleford's elbows crumpled to the ground, all his inner muscles shuddering at once from the alien feeling. So... juicy.  _So_ much colder than he'd imagined. Yet in it slurped, just the same.

"Yes... just like that. Perfect! Oh,  _such_ a good assistant!" "Stanford" cheered, hugging Fiddleford tight from his straddled perch above him.

Fiddleford lit up from hearing such heady praise, even through his panting. "That was nothing!" he said, puffing his chest up with pride-- only to be brought to a mewling heap once more, as two more squishy spheres slithered their way into him, one right after the other.

"Do you want me to stop?" the Shapeshifter purred to him.

Fiddleford clenched his fists and bucked his ass back against the wall of his "boss's" body. "Nnn, keep going..!" he managed through a moan.

"If you insist..." smiled the Shifter. Fiddleford's head was tipped down just enough to see the eggs bulge through the thin, veiny tubing of the ovipositor at his "boss's" crotch, one by one.

Six eggs. Six potential newborn Shapeshifters. Resting heavily within Fiddleford's stomach, when all was said and done.

"Amazing," Fiddleford said, pressing against what little fat there was within his skinny middle, moving more gingerly once his fingertips met the hardness of the eggs within. "You'd never even know they were in there, to look at it..."

"Do you want more?" said the Shapeshifter, slithering back to its natural form. It curled a knobby, pale claw over Fiddleford's shoulder.

"N..not yet," the scientist was quick to clarify. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding as the Shifter slunk away from him to the far side of its cell, just as the two of them had agreed.

His hands slid down to smooth over his stomach. "Soon, though," he murmured.

If it was this easy, it probably wouldn't be long at all.

\------

Had it been only days ago? It seemed so much longer, when he'd gotten that call from his wife, Gina.

"She broke her WHAT?!" came his worried response, clutching the receiver to his chin. And yet, how could he protest his wife leaving the state for a month, at the minimum? Having a mother-in-law break her hip wasn't something that happened every day.

But why, oh why, he would wonder in the weeks to follow, did the call have to come while he was in the underground bunker? Right within range of the Shapeshifter the Pines twins kept down there to hear.

The creature kept wheedling him whenever he was alone for days afterward. "You need relief. I'm in need of a host for my eggs. This should be beneficial for _both_ of us!" it pleaded, pale claws wrapped around the iron bars of its cage.

"I can't trust you," Fiddleford would say, swishing his suitcoat away from the beast as he kept marking down readings to the instruments kept near its cage.

"You've never given me a chance," it countered, giving the best approximation it could manage of what the humans called 'puppy eyes.' "What if I was to give you something you've always wanted in return?"

"Like what?" the scientist scoffed.

The Shapeshifter squelched to take Stanford Pines's form, standing tall behind the bars.

Fiddleford gasped quietly.

"I know you want him," the Shifter-Stanford said, leering to him. "I've seen how you look at him, when the three of you are down here." Stanford's clothes shifted away to reveal bare skin, veins a dark peach along a massively hung cock. "He isn't particular about getting dressed after using the decontamination showers, either."

Fiddleford turned away, protecting his boss's decency... only to turn back with a hungry stare, peeking through his fingers.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful? To have him all to yourself, however you want?" said the Shapeshifter. "All I ask is that you'd carry my eggs in return."

How could Fiddleford resist?

\------

He didn't notice the first change until two days after giving in.

Fiddleford was buttoning down his shirt, when the buttons simply... stopped being able to be buttoned, two from the end of the row.

He squinted down at his shirt, glancing up to the full-length mirror in his and Gina's bedroom. His stomach couldn't have grown  _that_ much in just two short days, could it?

He unbuttoned the third button from the bottom and tried buttoning it again, noticing this time how much tighter the fit was.

He stood up straight in the mirror, straining for his full height. Sucked in his gut. And let it wheeze out, as he realized that, yes, his stomach had clearly gained just enough of a bulge to make a button-down shirt an unwieldy task. He pressed his fingers gently under his abdomen, gasping in surprise at how much the eggs had already grown. What could be causing such a stark change? How much bigger would they get?

Fiddleford decided not to think about this for as long as he could manage it.

Even as his belt began digging into his swelling middle, pressing marks across his skin at navel level he couldn't deny when he stopped to unbuckle and piss in the lab's lone bathroom. He'd buckled his belt to the very farthest-out hole, trying to adjust for his new girth.

Yet the next day's marks were even starker. Zipping up the fly to his pants was a hopeless endeavor.

The day after that, he'd given up on his zipper entirely, simply buckling his belt over his vastly expanded middle and calling it good. Neither of the Pines twins had noticed the change, so he was still safe.

Until that night.

\------

The turns of the bunker's doorknob came quickly, jerking with desperation.

The door flung open, but Fiddleford didn't bother to close it, bolting instead for the Shapeshifter's cage, cradling his stomach in one hand.

"They're coming, I can FEEL them, *what do I do?!" Fiddleford begged the Shapeshifter.

"Hmm..." said the Shifter. With a light squelching sound, it took the form of a much calmer-looking Fiddleford, finger under its chin, bare stomach poking out wide and taut from under a half-buttoned shirt. It looked down at its new form. "First of all, take off those ghastly things around your legs. What are they called. Pants?"

"Yes," mumbled Fiddleford, unbuckling his belt to slide off his trousers. His underwear, too, he decided by instinct. He hunched forward, grabbing at his middle, groaning at the churning noises coursing through his insides.

"Oh, yes!" The dopple Fiddleford's eyes lit up behind his glasses. "You're so close to laying, even  _I_ can tell. Come in, come in!"

Without a second thought for his safety, Fiddleford dug for the keys in his pants pocket and jammed the proper one into the lock of the Shapeshifter's cage. He swung the door shut behind him, sinking to his knees as he sunk into his own copy's arms.

"Please be Stanford," he begged the creature taking his form, tugging at what looked like his own blazer lapels.  _"Please."_

The Shapeshifter complied. Its new, much larger body took Fiddleford in muscled arms, stroking soothingly at his bloated stomach.

"Does it hurt?" "Stanford" asked.

"Just where it's been stretching, but..." Fiddleford shivered, as another snarl rippled through the sounds his guts were making. "It all feels  _so strange!"_

"Don't worry," the Stanford copy consoled him. "The eggs respond to your body heat. Get onto your hands and knees. It should be--"

Fiddleford grasped his bulge, yowling, as he curled forward again. The tip of a golden sphere covered in bright green glop began breaching out from his ass, dripping slimy speckles upon the concrete floor. The egg was nearly twice the size of what had entered him.

"It's coming!" grinned "Stanford." "Oh, my, it looks in the peak of health!"

Fiddleford only cried out, overwhelmed by the dense mass sliding out of him. The egg sucked back inside, pulled by inner rings that had no idea what was going on in his intestines anymore.

"No, no, you're doing GREAT!" his boss's dopple said, cheering him on with gentle pats to the back.

"I can't do this..!" Fiddleford wailed, shuddering.

"You  _can!_ Do it for me!" demanded "Stanford." Fiddleford's right hand disappeared within the younger man's fist. "I only hired you because I know you're the best. Now  _prove_ it!"

Fiddleford screamed, waiting in dread for pain to start tearing through him-- yet he bore down upon his knees, squeezing, harder...

 _Platt._ The egg fell wetly to the floor from between his cheeks, with a bright green runoff trail slopping along after it.

"You did it!" cried the Stanford dopple, hugging Fiddleford tight. "See, it's easy! You can handle the rest, can't you?"

"It..." Fiddleford began, gulping through a shudder, face shiny with sweat. "It felt so GOOD...!"

"Of course!" the Shifter-Stanford said gleefully. "What better way to convince a host to lay them?"

"No, I meant..." Fiddleford mumbled, fidgeting his arms against each other in embarrassment as his face bloomed a dark pink. "It felt...  _really_ good." He tried ignoring the erection between his legs as best as he could.

"Don't even worry about it," the Stanford-copy reassured him. "It's a completely natural reaction. Think of it as a bonus for keeping them inside you."

Fiddleford nodded weakly, taking this as a simple fact. "I'm not done yet, am I," he asked.

"Five more to go!" the Shifter said, lowering his voice to add, "And of course, I can give you a  _special_ thank-you after you've laid them all."

Fiddleford keened at the Shifter-Stanford's hand palming over his erection. "I'll... do my best!" he panted, squinching his eyes shut as he felt the second egg shifting down the slim cradle of his pelvis, ready to be laid. He spread his legs wide, and pushed...

It barely gave any resistance at all, carried along on a thick flow of green ooze, plopping gently to the floor with the first.

So it was for the third, and the fourth... The fifth, bigger than the rest, gave up more of a fight, needing Fiddleford to grasp "Stanford"'s hand on its way out, practically grinding his teeth together-- but the final egg slunk free without any fuss, leaving the scientist thin once more and red-facedly alert for the pampering to follow.

 _"Such_ a good job. I knew I was right to pick you." said the Stanford-dopple as pulled the little man close to his chest, stroking between Fiddleford's legs with care. Whispering encouragements into his ear: "What a wonderful assistant I have. The best  _ever_. I couldn't do this without you."

Fiddleford bucked into the Shifter's hands, reeling as twelve fingers spread the warm slime shining thick upon his backside up his sack, his shaft-- rubbing it underneath his tender cockhead, massaging back and forth, back and forth... until the scientist was spasming in the creature's familiar grasp, spurting hot cum between "Stanford"'s fingers with a gasp and a shout.

He panted there in the Shapeshifter's arms for a few minutes, simply enjoying the feeling of being held by Stanford, even if it was only a copy.

Then he was wriggling out of the Shifter's arms to the floor, onto his back this time. Fixing the Shifter with a daring grin as he bobbed bent legs in the air.

"So, Stanford... how many more in there've you got ready to fill me up with again?"

"You  _want_ more?" asked the Stanford dopple, an incredulous look behind his square glasses.

"If it's from you, I can take anything," said Fiddleford, hunching down to brace himself.  _"Boss."_

The Shapeshifter happily complied.


	2. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMON SENSE NOTE: Don't be like Fiddleford here, folks. Don't figure your chances'll be better if you get the target of your affections drunk first. This fic is a FANTASY scenario. I don't condone it in real life.

Chapter 2: Drink

Fiddleford heaved a sigh, looking down at the bottle in his hands. Courvoisier. Stanford's favorite drink. Firey strong, with a honeyed touch to the liquor. The perfect thing to have on hand tonight, Fiddleford thought.

Even if he probably shouldn't have any himself, he added, fingers brushing the broad bump where his normally scrawny stomach would be. He felt the mass of eggs under his skin lurch lightly against his touch.

His mind reeled at how things had come to this. Here he'd been saying to himself he wouldn't carry more than a few, but he must be packed with at least twenty of the little spheres this time around, poking out just enough to make for a distinct paunch. The Shapeshifter could be awfully persuasive when Fiddleford was already on hands and knees, he thought, shifting in embarrassment.

He didn't have long to linger on his situation. Already, he could hear a pair of footfalls coming down the lab steps.

"Heya, Nerd!" said Stanley with a wave, appearing first at the basement doorway. "The life of the party's here. What were your other two wishes?"

Stanford appeared behind him to elbow his twin in the shoulder. "Calm down, musclehead. We're  _here_ to celebrate the discovery of a new species."

"Too true!" Fiddleford said, hoisting the bottle of Courvoisier before him. "To the Multibear! Can I pour you gentlemen a drink?"

"Music to my ears," said Stanford. "Speaking of which, who'd've thought it'd be a cassette recording that'd lure the beast in close enough to be sketched?"

"More like, who'da thought it'd like such sissy music," Stanley teased. "The Best Of BABBA?  _Seriously_ , that's the only tape you had in the car?"

"Hey, don't you diss BABBA!" Stanford said, heading for the shot glasses Fiddleford had laid out on Stanford's usual workspace desk. Just as planned, Fiddleford thought, watching Stanford grab a glass and beckon for the bottle in Fiddleford's hands. "Good choice, Fids," he remarked, uncorking it to pour a heaping shot of liquor into his glass.

"No trouble at all," said Fiddleford calmly, trying to contain his grin.

\------

"All I'm sayin' is," slurred Stanford, his fifth shot for the evening gone with a slug of his massive fist, "How could we  _know_ if this is an alternate universe, right? I mean, you only know what your possibilities ARE after you see what other probabilities AREN'T."

"Now... N'hold on," Fiddleford chased him, the scientist's first and only shot for the night still wavering half-full in his hand as he sat cross-legged next to Stanford's chair, on the floor. "You're sayin' the only way we'd know about alternate universes is they'd come a- _contactin_ ' us," he said, raising a finger at his pink-faced boss.

Stanley checked his fake gold watch. "Yup. This is nerd talk," he said, standing up to walk briskly up the lab stairs. "Enjoy your party, nerds," he called behind him to the pair.

For once, Fiddleford couldn't have been happier to see him leave.

"Go ahead, musclehead!" Stanford shouted after him. "I'll see you tomorrow! Us... Us _real_ men a' science'll... are gonna have a FUN TIME!"

Fiddleford chuckled behind his hand. "You're drunk," he declared.

"I may be drunk, but..." Stanford paused, gears almost audibly turning in his mind to try finishing his sentence. He picked his chair up by the arms to nudge it closer to where Fiddleford sat. "But you're... YOU'RE  _cute,"_ he leaned down to whisper, as if sharing a trade secret.

"Really?" said Fiddleford, eyes lighting up despite himself.

Stanford looked all around them, as if to check for anyone who might be listening in. "You're so TINY," he breathed to Fiddleford, pupils wide, scratching along the shoulders of Fiddleford's argyle sweater vest. "And you've got such a... a big  _huge_ brain in that head of yours, at the same time! It's  _amazing_." He glanced absently at his empty shot glass, shaking it lightly. "C'n... Can I have some more a' that? It's SO good."

"Of course!" grinned Fiddleford, leaping up to pour Stanford another shot. His boss gulped it down without a pause.

"And that stomach!" Stanford continued. "You're finally gettin' to enjoy your wife's cookin', huh?"

Fiddleford's heart jumped into his throat as Stanford sidled drunkenly out of his chair up to him, pawing underneath his sweater vest. Lifting up the fabric to rub the slight ball of flesh stretched tight there. "I mean, I don't mean t' be mean, but... You've really been packin' on the pounds lately, Fids," Stanford said with a benevolent grin.

He leaned in close to Fiddleford's ear. "I like it," he whispered. "A lot." His fingers stroked through the sparse, fuzzy hair upon Fiddleford's ample gut, trailing around a navel stretched to a thin fold of skin. "A whole  _awful_ lot."

"I-is that right?" was all the scientist could bring himself to say, dazed by his own joy.

"I like a guy who likes his food," Stanford slurred quietly to his assistant. "Appreciates what folks do for him. Someone's gonna cook for ya... You give 'em nothin' but clean plates! Y'know?"

"Of course," nodded Fiddleford, blushing at Stanford's broad hand clapping over his shoulder and shaking in agreement.

"Yeah. YOU know. I mean..." said Stanford, pouring himself another shot of Courvoisier with one hand. Sloshing his aim over the rim of the shot glass. He picked up the glass and raised it in a lopsided toast. "Am I right? You're actually  _married_. You've GOT a gal... Not like me." His merry air deflated like a changing breeze; his shoulders slumped like deadweights. "No girls want someone like me," he murmured, crashing back into his seat.

Fiddleford paused, letting Stanford wallow in his sorrows a moment before finally speaking up. "Maybe so. But..." Feeling bolder than he ever had on a monster hunt, he reached to unbutton Stanford's jeans. Drawing down the zipper to his fly.  _"Some_ one wants you."

He kept eye contact all the while, sinking carefully to his knees. "A whole." Zip. "Awful." Ziiiip. "Lot."

Stanford blinked down at him and his own open fly through the thick booze redness upon his cheeks. He had just enough presence of mind left to set his shot glass down onto the arm of his chair before a sudden hand tremor spilled it. "Your wife," he mumbled absently, scrubbing fingers against his forehead.

"Knows about me," Fiddleford said, reaching to kiss his boss on the inside of his denim-clad thigh. "Knows how much I love to... experiment."

He drank in the view of Stanford lying there panting, the head of a meaty dark pink erection poking up through the front of black silk boxers. Savored it. It was better than any booze he'd ever find.

He reached to pet Stanford's boner, smirking up at him, seeing his boss shiver at his touch. He leaned in, letting his breath puff along the length of it.

"You want this?" he asked, looking up past the stiff dick before him into Stanford's eyes, imploring.

Stanford merely pushed at the back of Fiddleford's head to shove his mouth onto his hard-on, moaning like it was the end of the world.

Fiddleford's eyes closed behind his glasses, breathing in the scent of sweat and musk and coarse, dark brown curls through his nose as he suckled Stanford's cockhead. Softly. Delicately. Swishing his tongue around under the head, gently tracing the veins on his shaft with his hand, then pumping his fist up and down-- whatever got the loudest, most pleasured noises out of his boss. Like he'd never get another chance at the real thing.

After all, he probably wouldn't.

"God, I," Stanford shuddered, too far gone to finish his sentence. He bucked all the harder past Fiddleford's lips instead. "Pudgy little... Ohh, where'd you get so GOOD at this?!" he cried, fingertips twisting through the scientist's hair. Letting go. His fingers froze in place, orgasm hitting him like a falling piano.

Fiddleford eagerly gulped down the first spurts of bodily fluids going into his system in weeks that didn't glow green.

He hummed in dazed bliss, burrowing his face against Stanford's crotch as his boss came down... blinking in surprise as Stanford's arms jerked to reach for both shot glasses on the desk beside them, downing the rest of what was in them-- first one, then the other.

"I've. Gotta think some things over," Stanford said, and set the glasses down. He stumbled up from his chair, lurching for the stairs. "I'll, uh. I'll call. Or maybe not. I... I don't know."

Fiddleford was left alone in the basement, listening to the uneven footfalls hurrying upstairs.

He rested his head against the seat of the chair Stanford had been seated upon. Still warm.

A content sigh left him as he cuddled the leather his boss had sat on only moments ago. He may not ever get to see more of Stanford than this, but for him, tonight had been enough.

Although... He patted his stomach absently in thought.

"A whole awful lot, huh?" he muttered to the empty room, and chuckled in happy disbelief.

\------

"So he  _likes_ the way you look, you say," mused the Shapeshifter, furrowing Stanford's brow.

Fiddleford let out another low moan, pressing back against "Stanford's" organ as it pumped another gout of egg and slime past his inner muscle rings.

"Do you think he'll accept you if he knows how you got that way?"

"I-- I dun... I don't  _knooow..."_ said Fiddleford, eyes rolling back behind his glasses deliriously.

"Stanford" curled his arms protectively around Fiddleford's middle. Another egg bulged its way down the thin, veiny tube anchored between the Shapeshifter's legs to slurp inside him... And again, sliding in another... and another. Six-fingered hands began rubbing across the aching skin of Fiddleford's belly as it stretched ever larger to fit them all, inch by inch.

"I accept you as you are. I  _like_ the way you are. So kind, as to help out someone like me," it whispered in his ear, folding its hand beneath Fiddleford's stomach to stroke the hardness it found there, then let go.

"Haaah...!" was all Fiddleford could bring himself to say. He clasped his hand over the Shapeshifter's, gripping the six fingers tight, his own palm quivering as yet another egg slopped inside him.

"Ohh, yes. You want to cum  _so_ very badly. I can hear it in your voice. You're practically bursting at the seams for it," the Stanford-dopple whispered low to his ear, hugging him close. "I think you've earned yourself some relief."

The Shifter stroked around the new, noticeable swell of Fiddleford's gut, swirling teasing fingers over the hard-on bobbing underneath.

"Yes.  _God_ yes," Fiddleford panted, the words barely catching up with his quickened breaths.

"Tell me how badly you want it," the Shifter demanded.

"I'd--" Fiddleford bucked into "Stanford's" fist. "I'll lay a  _hundred_ eggs for you, just please oh PLEASE let me come!!"

"A hundred?" echoed the Shapeshifter, sounding amused as it rocked into the scientist even slower. "All in one go?"

Fiddleford only shuddered in the Shifter's arms. "M..maybe... If I can..."

The Shapeshifter purred, nuzzling Stanford's nose against the nape of Fiddleford's neck. "Just imagine what you'd look like, with that many of my young inside you. So large.  _So_ round... Beaming with pride."

It took hold of Fiddleford's hard-on, stroking faster down the length of it, building up a steady rhythm to the little man's cries of pleasure: "Barely able to stand on your own two legs..."

 _Aaa yes...!!"_ Fiddleford screeched, not even hearing what was being said.

"Struggling to breathe. So full, you could burst apart at any moment..."

"Yes... Oh, keep going, YES!!" he cried obliviously.

"You  _enjoy_ having so much of me inside you?" "Stanford" cooed to him, his strokes getting stronger.

"Yes...  _yes_ ," Fiddleford said, tossing his head up and down, his body bobbing along with the Shifter's grasp. He came with a shout, collapsing in its arms as he slumped in exhaustion.

The Shifter-Stanford hummed to him in delight, pulling Fiddleford's small body against its own from behind as Fiddleford gave a tired whimper. Broad, warm arms engulfed him, wrapped tight around Fiddleford's chest.

"I'm empty for now, but believe me," "Stanford" told him, palming gently over the scientist's belly mound. "There'll be more for you to carry. Far more than this. Only for my very best assistant. Who I love so,  _so_ very much."

Fiddleford closed his eyes. Let himself be hugged. His stomach massaged, oh so reverently.

Let himself believe, just for now, that Stanford's feelings were true.


	3. Discoveries

Chapter 3: Discoveries

Stanford knew it shouldn't be taking this long for his assistant to feed the Shapeshifter.

He was NOT expecting to come down the bunker steps to see his assistant bent over and wailing, pants around his ankles, as he was pistoned in and out of by-- by  _himself?_

Stanford gripped the door handle and squinted, a frown growing across his face.

Was his hairline really  _that_ far back?

Fiddleford was oblivious to anything other than the man fucking away on top of him from inside the Shapeshifter's cage. "Ahah, yes, fill me UP,  _USE_ me!!" the little man cried, bucking his ass back against "Stanford's" slime-shiny cock.

The Stanford copy groaned from deep in his throat, showing teeth in a full-faced grimace, gripping Fiddleford's hips tight in time with the scientist's howl, as the smaller man's already heaving belly swelled unbearably larger, like merciless gouts of water pounding into a balloon. "Stanford's" palm reached down to rub along its massive curve, swirling fingertips around a navel popped fully convex. Stanford could hear him breathing behind Fiddleford's ear, "You're almost done for today. You've emptied me out... Look at how well you've taken them all."

Fiddleford's head sank to take in the view of his mound of a stomach, swaying on his hands and knees with giddy exhaustion. "So good...! I-I feel, just...  _so_ good, so HEAVY..."

Stanford stood there at the stairway, reeling, still unsure of what to do. The pieces clicked into place quickly enough: Fiddleford's sudden exhaustion, going from button-down shirts to vests, all the weight he'd gained in just a short few weeks...

He heard the Shifter-him growl, nuzzling against the back of Fiddleford's neck. "I'll bet you want to cum, don't you. I  _know_ you do."

"Yes. Oh please yes, _yes,"_ Fiddleford begged him, hoisting his backside higher to reveal the hard-on quivering stiff beneath his tremendous gut.

Stanford breathed out in a tense wheeze. Watched what looked for all the world like  _him_ grab his assistant's stubby pink erection and start pumping the skin up and down as the little man squirmed and screamed out for more, yes, harder...

"You want a good, solid  _fuck,_ after taking your clutch so well, don't you?"

"Please. Yes Stanford oh please yes that's what I want _yeh heh hess!!"_  
His assistant arched his back, bracing for the flurry of ass-pounding that followed.

Stanford licked his lips. This was SO wrong. Like a car crash. He couldn't look away for the life of him.

He couldn't stop himself from unzipping the fly to his pants and taking his throbbing-hard dick in his hand at the sight of it, either. Moaning quietly against the door frame as he started to stroke.

"God I can FEEL you... pressing up against the eggs...!" wailed Fiddleford. He stopped moving before long, shuddering in place where he was pinned. "Ohh... YES. OH. oh  _mercy_ me, yes-- * _ohhhh--~"_ , he panted through grit teeth, his stomach lurching with the thrusts of his hips as he streaked the floor of the Shapeshifter's cell with thick, globby white strings.

The Shifter-Stanford fell still from his humping to hug Fiddleford close with a tenderness that made the real Stanford uncomfortable to watch. " _Such_ a good assistant I have," Stanford saw himself purr to the gasping man in his arms.

And before his brain had even caught up with him, Stanford was coming as well, his free hand pressed white-knuckle tight to his mouth to muffle his cries as hot, wet bursts spurted into his fist.

He kept squeezing his dick through the aftershocks, milking out the last few drops, slumped there against the wall.

He was going to have to have a good, long talk with his assistant. One way or another.

\------

There was something in the slime the eggs were planted with. There  _had_ to be. He shouldn't be this horny at random times just from carrying the eggs alone.

But either way, it was happening.  _Again_.

Fiddleford breathed out slowly, setting down the box of wires needed for the portal where he stood. His skin felt aflame, prickled over with goosebumps and sweat.

He managed a quick glance from left to right. Neither of the Pines brothers were around, down here.

Good.

He'd just managed to hobble through the door to the bunker before he'd let it swing shut and unbuckled his belt, pants left to fall to his ankles as he sunk to the ground and grabbed the erection waiting for him underneath his monstrously swollen middle. Pulling on his dick and moaning, there in the darkness. He couldn't manage the trip all the way over to the light switch. Not that he could see his penis over his own stomach anymore.

"Oh mercy me, Fiddleford, what've you gotten yourself into," he whispered to himself, squeezing out the thick, foreign ooze that now beaded from his cockhead when these urges overtook him, palming it down his shaft for ready lube.

His body had no hesitations; his dick stayed as hard as it ever did as he shuffed it in his fist, whimpering in pleasure as he grazed under the ridge of his sensitive head. Already, he was getting close... He sped up the frantic rhythm of his fist around his cock... Slowing down. Speeding up for another go yes  _yes_ he could feel it coming yes YES  _YES_ feeling the thick slime flying out, splattering the underside of his belly, his other hand clamping over his mouth to muffle his scream as he launched off sticky gouts into the air in front of him, yes,  _yeeesss._

His fist kept pumping as he sagged, trying to catch his breath, sprawled on his side there on the bunker floor.

He could hear the Shapeshifter chuckle over in its cell. "I see I've been keeping you busy," was all the creature said, its tone gloating with pleasure from getting to witness such a show.

All Fiddleford could do was pant. He rubbed his hands down over the slope of his belly, feeling the slick wetness left along the underside. The soft shifting, as the nearest eggs slunk from the press of his fingers.

"Did I make you feel good?" came the Shifter's smug voice. Like it  _knew_ what its leavings were doing to him.

Fiddleford's hands slumped to the floor. "Yes," he admitted flatly.

"I  _want_ you to feel good. The better you feel, the bigger my eggs will grow inside you." It gave him a happy hum through the dark. "I bet you'll look even more handsome to your Stanford with a  _truly_ full stomach. Isn't that what you want?"

The scientist ran a shaky hand along the skin of his gut, swollen taut and heaving like a small mountain.

"How many've I carried for you already?" came his weak wheeze. "Fifty? A hundred?"

"Does it matter?" grinned the Shapeshifter. "Don't you want to feel even more?"

...Curse wherever the Shifter came from.

Fiddleford  _did._


	4. Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a Chapter 5 to this. I SWEAR there is.
> 
> I just don't know how it ends yet. :3

Chapter 4: Delivery

Fiddleford always knew the particular twinge when he was about to start laying. The low growling noise rumbling through his guts, like a kinder but more insistent upset stomach.

He'd never had it happen when Stanford was  _around_ before.

He danced around the subject, claiming he needed a long bathroom break, if you know what I mean... when Stanford lifted his head from his notes and said, "I know you're carrying the Shapeshifter's eggs."

Fiddleford froze to hear it. Denial had been doing a great job keeping him from thinking he'd actually had to  _deal_ with it, even as his stomach grew to be anything but hideable, but--

"It's true, isn't it?" Stanford declared. He looked hurt, seeing the fear in his assistant's eyes. "Really. And you didn't TELL me?" He gestured to Fiddleford's stomach, which hung globe-like above the sliver of a much-abused belt buckle. "Fids, did you honestly think I wouldn't notice? You're HUGE!"

Fiddleford shrunk against his boss's stare. "You didn't until now," he backpedaled.

"And the _Shapeshifter?!_ I'd expect this kind of thing from my brother. But of all the monsters you've gotta be seduced by, you have to pick the most dangerous?" Stanford chastised him. "How many eggs have you laid by now?"

Fiddleford squinted. His eyes darted about the room.

 _"How many?"_ Stanford demanded.

"A hundred...?" his assistant said softly, tapping his fingertips together.

His boss reeled at him. "Seriously?!"

Even quieter. "...Maybe two?"

Stanford could only sputter at first. "McGucket, I can't  _believe_ you! You're willing to let two hundred Shapeshifters loose on this poor town?!"

"Hey!" Fiddleford spoke up, looking insulted. "Two hundred Shapeshifter  _eggs!_ That won't ever hatch, 'cause I've been chucking 'em all in the dumpster out back to go cold again whenever there's a new batch!"

This got a double-take from Stanford. "You... huh? Really?" he asked in disbelief. "You've just been..."

"I may be spreadin' my legs to the beast, but I'm not  _stupid_ ," Fiddleford said, crossing his arms indignantly. "In fact, I..."

The churning in his guts cut the thought off there. His hands curled over the stretched mass of his sweater vest, his eyes panicked. "I'm sorry. I have to..."

"Let me watch you lay them," Stanford said firmly.

Fiddleford blinked. When his boss asked him like that, how could he resist?

"O-okay. But I... need to take these off," he stammered, unbuckling his belt as a warning. "There's a lot of slime that comes out..."

"Understood," Stanford nodded, turning to his desk. "I'm just going to grab my journal."

Fiddleford paled. "Not the special ones you're _drawing_ in!" he protested, hips starting to waver slightly from holding the eggs back. "You might be my boss, but you're not drawin' my behind in those things!"

Stanford paused, trying to think fast. "Fine. I'll use a notebook."

Fiddleford squinted in suspicion. "That you won't be drawing me in. Right?"

"Well I aughh _hem._ " Stanford wouldn't meet his eyes.

Groaning, Fiddleford clutched his middle. He could feel the first egg sinking down in his body, ready to come out at any moment. "Ohhh-- do what you're gonna, this just needs _doin'!"_

As Stanford raced to the nearest desk for a new, unmarked notebook, Fiddleford kicked his feet free of his shoes and trousers and got onto hands and knees, his breath coming in heavy pants.

Stanford's eyes widened in awe as he turned back to see the first golden-colored egg swell out from between Fiddleford's buttocks. "Can you hold that pose?" he begged, tossing the notebook open and sketching furiously.

Fiddleford's sphincter winked around the glossy shell. "I-- can't, it's-- it's coming, it's COMING, it's--" His strained whine stretched with the skin of his ass as the egg peeked farther out of him, spreading him wide, slippery from the bright green glop around it. It was fully round, like a fish's or frog's egg, and squelched out of the scientist with a determined-sounding grunt, gliding down with a thick slime trail to the floor.

"Holy Moses," Stanford breathed, gawking at the egg cooling on the concrete before him.

"There's more coming!" Fiddleford's hand brushed Stanford's knee, frantic.  _"A lot_ more!!"

Stanford said nothing this time, instead making fervent sketches in the notebook he held documenting the laying process. Which seemed a nicer way of saying 'the things poking out of his assistant's ass.'

"I can't believe you're  _drawing_ this," Fiddleford said between pants, blushing red down to his shirtcollar.

"Hm? You're doing good! Really good," Stanford answered, distracted by the view.

Another, and another, and another-- Stanford lost track of the eggs sliding out of Fiddleford after the twelfth, but there were plenty more where that came from, each of them gliding wetly from his assistant's pucker with a buck of his hips and a desperate wailing.

Stanford hadn't realized how much of an exercise laying all these eggs was for poor Fiddleford until there was a pile of golden bounty in front of him. He noticed his assistant wheezing on shaky arms and knees, dripping with sweat from the effort.

Stanford set aside his notebook at last, brushing his hand through Fiddleford's mop of bangs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know this took so much out of you," he admitted. "Just try to get the ones that need to come out tonight, all right? Don't strain yourself."

Fiddleford took to Stanford's hand like a loyal dog to a master, letting his fingers smooth through the sweaty catastrophe upon his head. "Yes, sir," he breathed, only pulling away with a gasp as another egg began bulging from the cleft of his ass. He squatted low, teeth clenched together, as another egg slurped slowly out from him to join the pile.

Stanford smoothed a hand against Fiddleford's stomach, the older man's paunch all but gone. "You can do it. Do it for  _me."_

Fiddleford hummed deliriously, squinching his eyes shut behind his spectacles as yet another golden sphere swelled out from the slime ringing his bottom to squish free to the floor with a soft _platt._

He bucked against Stanford's fingertips, feeling them rim gently around the shell of the next egg rearing partway out of him. "Oh _mercy,"_ Fiddleford breathed with his pushes, as the egg lurched into Stanford's waiting palms. "I know you're trying to help, but... please don't do that!"

"Sorry. Does it hurt?" Stanford asked, clutching around the warm, sludgy mass in his hands.

"N..no, you're just..." Fiddleford's voice fell away. He buried his face against his sweater sleeve, answering with a muffled "It's  _very_ arousing!"

"...Right," said Stanford after a pause. "I'd, uh. Been trying not to say anything."

Fiddleford shook with embarrassment. He could only imagine how he must look right now, rear end in the air, his erection wagging at full mast under a runny, slime-coated mess of a sack.

Meaning he was all the more surprised to feel Stanford's fingers wrapping gently around said slimy erect mess, tugging carefully but firmly down his shaft. He gasped. "St..Stan _forrrd--!"_ was all he could bring himself to say.

"It's not weird," Stanford blurted through his own blush. "It's... research. Right?"

Fiddleford was lost in his own bliss at first.

"Do you want me to stop?" asked Stanford warily.

Fiddleford's words came out in pleasure-dazed grunts, shuffing his needy dick against his boss's hand. "No. PLEASE.  _More."_

Stanford obliged.

"Is now a bad time to ask a question?" he asked awkwardly.

"Nnnnn..." came his assistant's cryptic response, eyes rolling behind his glasses as Stanford's hand stroked on.

Stanford decided to take that as a 'yes.' "How do you know when you're empty?"

"Can't come..." said Fiddleford, twisting in Stanford's grasp. "Can't, unless... I'm... when there's none left-- I'm, oh, Stanford  _god_ I--"

An egg blorted free and fell from Fiddleford's ass in one gout as the little man's voice peaked, bucking strings of cum into a six-fingered fist like foam from a shaken bottle.

Stanford let him lay there panting in the slurry of green goo. He brought his hand up to swish the mix of semen and egg glop between his fingertips.

"So you're out, I guess," he smiled.

"...Yes," Fiddleford panted.

Stanford raised him a curious eyebrow. "For now?"

Fiddleford closed his eyes peacefully. "For now," he agreed.


	5. Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey! Found an extra chapter under the couch cushions.
> 
> P.S. Did I mention this fic might get weird? 'Cause this fic might get weird.

Chapter 5: Dilemma

 

"Congratulations, Mr. McGucket! It's a boy!" chirped the nurse, handing him a bundle wrapped in blue cloth.

Fiddleford couldn't pinpoint why, but something about this felt... _off_. But what? Gina was there by his hospital bedside, clasping her hands together in joy as his legs relaxed in the birthing stirrups at last.

Well, at least his worries were over now. He hugged his new son tight through his own rosy sweat sheen, then turned over the blanket covering the baby's face.

"Dah-dah!" croaked the twisted mass of flesh in his arms, its sphincter of a mouth brimming with teeth from every wrinkle. Bright pink Shapeshifter eyes stared lidlessly up at him as a flurry of legs scratched out from the bundle and onto Fiddleford's bare chest, tearing, blood, _everywhere_ \--

Fiddleford was still screaming as he woke up.

He fell silent, gasping for breath, eyes flicking this way and that across the darkness of the bedroom he was alone in... and breathed out, slowly. Just another nightmare. He'd had his fair share of those, since beginning his service as a living incubator.

Fiddleford ran both hands over his belly from under the sheets. Just as usual, he noted-- the eggs had swollen even bigger over the second night than they had for the first. Though it never ceased to surprise Fiddleford how warm his stomach was, whenever a clutch he carried was growing. It was like a tiny furnace to the touch.

He was going to miss that part, he thought, letting his fingers rest atop the solid, toasty mound. This _had_ to be his last batch. After all, Gina would be coming home next week. It wouldn't do to keep up this charade once she returned. They may have agreed to an open marriage, but he was pretty sure she meant 'with members of the same species.'

At least Stanford had been all for him taking one more clutch. Ever since he'd left Fiddleford alone with the Shapeshifter two days ago to have it bury its newest load inside him (he'd given up on even counting the eggs anymore; either the Shifter was empty, or it wasn't), his boss had been hounding him for documentation every step of the way. Like Fiddleford was Stanford's newest science fair project.

Ah, well, he thought with a sigh... It wasn't the most glamorous relationship he could have with his boss, but he could think of few other ways Stanford would be begging to see him naked.

That's right, Fiddleford remembered. He clicked on the lamp at his bedside table and reached for the measuring tape placed there, lifting his nightgown to wind the tape around his stomach. As he jotted down the results in the notebook Stanford had given him to record his findings, he shook his head in disbelief at the latest circumference on the list. "I'll be," he breathed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Gonna be needin' that shirt he gave me after all."

\------

"Oh, wow! You wore the--"

"Don't say it," Fiddleford groaned to a beaming Stanford there in the basement lab's doorway. "Don't you EVEN..."

But Stanford couldn't stop grinning at the row of ducklings stretched across his assistant's pastel purple maternity blouse. "I _told_ you it'd fit you better."

Across the lab, Stanley raised his head up from behind a tangle of archway wiring. "Huh. He actually wore it." He nodded to his twin. "I owe you five bucks."

Fiddleford swiveled in his steps, starting back up the stairs to the shack-- wobbling a little, his center of gravity compromised as it was. "I don't have to listen to this," he muttered.

"Hey, hey! Don't take it the wrong way," Stanford said, rushing to follow Fiddleford up the staircase. "You're right. I shouldn't say 'I told you so.' This is me, apologizing."

Fiddleford stopped climbing the stairs, his hand softening against the railing at Stanford's voice. He looked over his shoulder, down at his boss. "I'm listening."

"I just thought it would be more comfortable for you, that's all." Stanford ran his hand awkwardly along the railing. "So, uh... how're you feeling today?"

"Well enough," Fiddleford said, hunching down to take a seat upon the nearest stair. One hand went for his stomach, rubbing absent-mindedly along the bulge like he'd gotten into the habit of doing lately. "They're not ready to pop for probably another day yet, but as soon as it starts, you'll be the first to know."

"And the, er." Stanford paused, thinking of a tactful way to put it. "Those random _urges?"_

Fiddleford felt his cheeks go hot at the memory. "They've been... comin' steady. Had one while I was getting dressed this morning. Another one driving here. Had to swerve over t'the side of the road awfully quick and... take care of it."

Stanford nodded. "Any chance you got samples of that green stuff you mentioned coming out when it happens?"

Fiddleford coughed lightly. "Not yet. Been other things on my mind when it's goin' on, you'll understand."

"Sure. Of course," Stanford nodded. "Let me know if it happens when you're around here. I'd love to get a shot at analyzing what it's made of."

Fiddleford swooned inside at the thought of Stanford watching him pleasure himself, research or no. Before he knew it, he was shivering and panting there on the steps, much to Stanley's excitement. "Oh..! Is it... Is one happening already?"

Fiddleford unfastened his belt buckle. "Think I feel one comin' on," he said to his boss, his voice low with lust.

He stopped still, dumbfounded, as Stanford ran off, calling over his shoulder, "Great! I'll go get some specimen containers!"

Fiddleford sat there on the steps before giving a low whistle and shaking his head. "Boy can't tell someone's flirting with him if they tape a note to his nose," he moaned to himself... and cursed under his breath, loosening the fly to his pants to make room for the hard-on still pounding away in his drawers. Whatever was in Fiddleford's inner cargo that was supercharging his libido, it wasn't about to let him calm down so quickly.

By the time Stanford returned with sample cups in hand, Fiddleford had long wrestled off his pants. He was oblivious to his boss's arrival, huffing hard, one hand shuffing over the wet spot oozing from the tent in his boxer briefs, which poked out admirably from under his taut, bare sphere of a stomach. His eyes were glazed in... pain? Pleasure? Stanford honestly couldn't tell. He only knew the pastel yellow duckies marching across Fiddleford's blouse somehow managed to make the sight even more obscene.

"Ohhh, boy," Stanford breathed out, overwhelmed all over again by this much sex being thrown in his face. _From someone who'd ask a Shapeshifter to look like you when he's mating with it,_ his mind added. _And don't forget what happened the night you found the Multibear. What you can remember._

Stanford pushed all that aside for the moment. Whatever his assistant had done, Fiddleford needed help _now._ "Are you okay? What can I do?" he asked, crouching down closer to Fiddleford's eye level.

"They're... the eggs're growing again," Fiddleford panted. "Just a little, but. Can't tell what's givin' me a harder time right now, my crotch or my stomach!"

Stanford nodded. "You want me to rub your..." He noticed Fiddleford's eyes light up. "Uh. Your stomach for you?"

Fiddleford's voice faltered from yet another surge to his cock as he thought of his boss rubbing him _anywhere_. "Th-that'd be heavenly, if you please," he finally managed.

Stanford's hands were delicate at first, grazing past the stretch marks fanning out like lightning bolts all along the sides of Fiddleford's belly. He brushed over his assistant's popped-out navel, testing for a pained reaction, but all he got was a moan of joy.

"That feel good?" he asked, rolling around the small nubbin-bump of skin with the pad of his thumb.

"SO good..." Fiddleford drawled, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Stanford gave another few whorls around it, then turned his massage to the whole of the belly, skimming his fingernails in the lightest of scratch-circles over the flesh. "Ohh, I can't thank you enough..."

Stanford's eyes were wide behind his square frames, half in concern, half amazement as he felt the round firmnesses under his assistant's skin roll and shift at a harder prodding. "How often do they grow like this? Do you know?"

Fiddleford turned his face from Stanford in embarrassment. "They swell a bit whenever I get... riled up like this," he said haltingly, pressing strong against Stanford's fingers without thinking as his boss got a perfect balance of scratch and rub going. "The Shifter said... the better I feel... The bigger they... they'll--" He choked off, gasping for breath. "Oh, Stan _forrrd...!"_ he murmured quietly, giving a full-body shudder. He could _feel_ the thick ooze beading out from his prick into his underwear.

Stanford's mouth quirked as he saw the dark patch growing. Was it rude to stare, in a situation like this? He had no idea. "Wow, so... Feels that good to have someone rub over the eggs, huh?" he said, trying to keep things _somewhat_ less than horribly awkward.

"It's good 'cause it's _you,"_ said Fiddleford, leaning back against the stairs to bask in the massage. "You know, I only did this for you? All of it."

Stanford paused warily. "What do you mean?"

"You're so HUGE and you're _STRONG_ and you're a _genius,"_ Fiddleford babbled in his bliss. "And nobody seems to realize that but me, so of COURSE I _want_ you, who _wouldn_ 't want you if they got to see how amazing you are every day like I do?... I've wanted you t'notice me this way for so long!" He clamped one hand over Stanford's, which had halted in place atop his egg-bloated gut. His other hand wandered lower, beating his meat as well as his stomach could let him reach. "Oh _god_ , Stanford, feels like... m'gonna come like a _firehose_ , any second now, I'm _uhhhn--~"_

As Fiddleford came down from his pleasure-haze, he became startlingly aware of three things.

One, the sensation of a specimen cup being dragged over the goo patch across his inner thigh.

Second, the clack of the cup sealing shut.

Third, and most importantly: he'd just let slip something big. More secret than all his hundreds of tossed-out progeny. And for once, there was no way he could simply dump this and walk away.

"...Stanford?" he asked.

His boss stood up and walked stiltedly down the steps to the lab, specimen cup in hand, glasses reflecting in the dim light of the stairwell. He wouldn't meet Fiddleford's eyes.

"What's ol' Preggo Shirt yellin' about?" Fiddleford could barely hear Stanley ask.

"Wha-- I--" he sputtered, hollering to the lab, "DAMMIT, STANLEY, MY NAME'S NOT 'PREGGO SHIRT'!"

\------


	6. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and changed all the Stanleys to Stanfords (and vice versa) to reflect post-"A Tale of Two Stans" names. Well played, Mr. Hirsch. 
> 
> I'll change the names for this fic, but not previous ones, preferring to keep them as time capsules of their era.

Every minute Stanford refused to talk to him after his confession was like a knife in Fiddleford's considerable gut.

His boss spoke his findings aloud as he went through the motions of Fiddleford's evening checkup, but it wasn't the same.

"No height change, same as always," Stanford said, bringing his roll of measuring tape down to circle it around Fiddleford's stomach. His eyebrows arched upwards at the result. "Huh. Odd... You've _lost_ three inches since this morning."

"Guess they're affected when I'm feeling terrible as much as when I'm feelin' great," Fiddleford muttered.

This gave Stanford pause. He wound the tape back around itself, saying, "Look. I don't know how else to say this, Fids. I don't like you the way you like me. For one thing, I like GIRLS." He sighed, putting a hand to his brow in frustration. "I may not _understand_ them at all, they may not like _me_ , but…"

"You sure you don't like any part of me?" Fiddleford dared, squinting. "Not even a whole. Awful. Lot?"

Stanford's eyes went wide, the words coming back to him as through through a fog. "All right. It's not like I've _never_ thought about you. That night we were… in the basement…" He trailed off, frowning.

Fiddleford's brow raised. "You didn't like that?"

"I don't even remember what we _did_ ," Stanford admitted. "I was super drunk, okay? I just know I…" His eyes darted off to the side. "Well, I. Let off some steam with you at some point."

"And that's fine with me!" said Fiddleford. "If all you want is a pick-me-up now 'n again, I'd be more than happy to--"

"No," Stanford cut him off. "That's the problem. I don't _want_ just some quick fling. If I'm gonna be with somebody, I need something more than that. I don't want to share with someone else. That's just me. And you've _got_ someone. Who's smart, and funny, and great…" He gestured vaguely into the air. "It just wouldn't work. I'm sorry."

Fiddleford nodded, and was silent for the rest of the measurements. He couldn't help but notice his boss was completely skipping any data gathered from below his belly, now that Stanford knew why so many of Fiddleford's random frenzies of arousal just _happened_ to start around him alone.

The third day came and went, with no laying twinge, no urges. Nothing.

Stanford looked glum as he wound up the measuring tape that evening. "Five inches down. _And_ your stomach's dropping back to pre-implantation temperature. I'm no expert on this, but you might end up losing them at this rate."

Fiddleford sat there in his ducky maternity blouse, legs dangling like hollow sticks off the side of Stanford's desk, staring blankly at the floor.

"Damn it, Fids-- if you don't want me researching the Shapeshifter's reproduction cycle anymore, I won't. But don't give up on a perfect chance to learn about it just 'cause _I_ turned you down!" Stanford took his glasses off to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "Why couldn't you have the hots for Stanley instead? He's the handsome one! He might even go for you!"

"Oh, I did," said Fiddleford. "That didn't work out, either, so I built a device to wipe any memories of me from his brain."

Stanford blinked. "You _what?"_

"Seemed the easiest way to deal with the problem," Fiddleford said with a shrug.

"Huh. So that's why he's kept calling you 'hey, you' these past couple months…" said Stanford, before shaking his head. "Wait. Were you going to mindwipe _me?!"_

"No! Absolutely not." Fiddleford seemed insulted. "Bless his heart, but Stanley isn't gonna miss a few brain cells if something went wrong. I'd never tinker with any of _yours."_

"Oh. Well." Stanford was torn for what to say. "Thanks?"

"Don't mention it," said Fiddleford in a monotone.

"But what about your eggs?" Stanford pressed him.

"What about 'em?" Fiddleford tossed up his hands. "I'm just gonna throw 'em away anyhow!"

"But why would you carry so many for this long, if you weren't trying to research the Shapesh--"

"For _you_ , all right? I only promised it I'd carry 'em 'cause that's the only way it would keep turning into _you!"_ Fiddleford shot back. He brushed his hands over his stomach bulge absently. "Lord, but I'm a fool. Here I saw you gettin' so excited over researching the eggs, I thought I might actually have a chance to get closer to the _real_ you if I just kept at it."

He turned his head away from his boss. "But I can't keep my mouth shut, so now I know it's never going to happen. What's the point?"

Stanford was silent in thought. "Hop down," he told his assistant with a swing of his hand. "We're leaving."

Fiddleford did so, but couldn't help his curiosity. "Where to?"

Stanford got his car keys out of his pocket. "The bunker."

\------

The Shapeshifter saw Fiddleford come through the door first. "Ah! Back for more so soon?" it asked, knobby claws clutching the bars to its cage.

Its pink eyes narrowed to see Stanford enter as well. "...And my captor. Lovely. To what do I owe the pleasure of _your_ company?"

Stanford spoke up first, gesturing to his assistant. "I know about the eggs you've been giving him. And his body's rejecting the latest batch, because I told him the truth. That he and I would never work as a couple in real life."

Fiddleford's shoulders sank. It still hurt to hear coming from Stanford's mouth.

"Now, I don't know everything about the process, but he basically needs endorphins for the eggs to thrive, right?" asked Stanford.

The creature looked back at him, puzzled, so Stanford corrected himself. "He needs... to feel pleasure?"

"That's about it, yes," replied the Shapeshifter.

"All right." Stanford nodded to himself. "I don't want to get his hopes up, but I _do_ want to give him the next best thing. So take my form and mate with him again, could you?"

Fiddleford looked up in a double-take. "R-right now?"

"I mean. If Fids _wants_ to," his boss added. He looked over at Fiddleford. "Do you?"

"I-- well I-- yes, I'd like that very much," Fiddleford was quick to make clear.

"Thought so. I happen to know it wouldn't be the first time you've looked like me for his sake," Stanford continued. "All I ask is to be here while you're... boosting his morale. I want to take some notes."

The Shapeshifter and Fiddleford looked at each other, their faces a mirror of surprise. "You don't mind?" Fiddleford asked through his shock.

Stanford shrugged. "Our project isn't done yet. And I don't want to lose my best assistant over this, either."

"You think I'm your best...?" Fiddleford began, and trailed off, cupping a hand to his mouth.

"Of _course!_ You're the greatest research assistant I've ever had-- heck, Fids, you built a functioning thermal heat scanner from stuff I found at the dump! It's not like I _hate_ you just 'cause I don't want to hop into bed with you," Stanford said. "And if mating with a creature who looks like me is the way I can keep you happy and on-task, it's not like that's the weirdest thing to ever happen in this town." He smiled at Fiddleford's dumbfounded face. "Just pretend he's me. Like you have been."

With a squelching sound, "Stanford" grinned to Fiddleford from through the bars. "Well, what are we waiting for? Come on in!"

This was all happening so fast. Fiddleford started for the cage door, fumbling for the key... before stopping to look at his boss, who was already taking out a small notebook and pencil from his back pocket and settling to a cross-legged seat upon the floor.

"You're really okay with this?" Fiddleford asked him.

"Well." Stanford looked up from the fresh page of his notebook. "I'd honestly prefer these to be the last eggs you carry, but that's not any of my business, so long as you keep dealing with them responsibly."

"Ah, yes! You've been setting them out in the woods for the sun to warm them until they hatch, right?" said the Shifter, eyes shining eager behind Stanford's glasses.

The real Stanford raised an eyebrow at Fiddleford, but said nothing.

Fiddleford recalled the cracking noises the last batch had made landing on the others in the dumpster, before he'd shut the lid.

"Of _course_ I have," he replied with a weak smile.

"I wonder if any of them have met each other yet," the Shapeshifter mused dreamily. "There's enough of them, they might even form their own colony!"

Fiddleford cleared his throat. "Let's change the subject," he said, unbuckling his belt to slide down his pants and underwear. He entered the cage, feeling butterfly tingles of anticipation among all those eggs in his stomach.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the Shifter-Stanford crouched to one knee to pet the slope of Fiddleford's paunch, frowning with concern. "Hm... it's true. Still heavy with my young from our last time, but barely." It rested its head against his slight belly, nuzzling its clefted chin against the row of duckies. "And so cold! You must have been feeling _awful."_

It squelched from his boss's usual black shirt and jeans to hairy nakedness. "Let's fix that," it told Fiddleford with a grin, and eased the suddenly-blushing little man down onto his back upon the cell floor.

Fiddleford froze at its touch. "Sorry, I just," he muttered, and breathed out nervously. "This's the first time I've done this sort of thing with an audience." His eyes darted outside the cage to his boss again, who was busy scribbling something down ( _and better not be drawing me_ , Fiddleford thought darkly).

The Stanford dopple bent to murmur to his ear, "If he makes you upset, don't look at him." It stroked a hand through Fiddleford's scruffy bangs. "Just relax. Enjoy yourself."

"I-- I _want_ to, but…" Fiddleford shook his head.

"You care for him?" the Shifter-Stanford asked.

"Yes," said Fiddleford quietly.

The creature 'hmm'ed at this. "I've only seen him care about his research." It leaned down to murmur to his ear, "How does it feel to _be_ what he cares about most?"

This brought a red tint to Fiddleford's cheeks.

The Shifter-Stanford planted a kiss upon his forehead before hunkering down between Fiddleford's legs. "Just think of him poring over what happens here for months to come. Maybe even forever."

The Shapeshifter really _did_ look like his boss, Fiddleford noted through a sudden sheen of sweat.

He splayed his legs wide, giving Stanford a grin. "So let's put on a show you'll remember."

Stanford smiled back. He kissed Fiddleford again on the tip of his penis, then lapped the whole of it into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the foreskin's edge until it slowly began to inch back.

"Uhnn… Stanford..." Fiddleford moaned, tipping his head back at the feeling-- and gasped in surprise at the slight shift of movement, deep within his guts. As he clutched at his stomach, the mass of eggs inside gained the barest of new, stirring warmth to match his erection.

Stanford kept up the pace, pausing as thick, oozing slime began dribbling out from Fiddleford's cock. He gathered as much as he could in his broad, hairy hand, pawing the goo into the cleft of Fiddleford's ass until the whole of the little man's rump shone with a wet smoothness.

"Those noises you're making," Stanford all but growled. "They make me want to mount you." He grinded his erection against Fiddleford's inner thigh. "Want to give you _so_ many eggs, right now… Fuck you full of them, until you're straining tight and enormous."

"N-no more eggs, thanks," Fiddleford managed through his panting.

"Are you sure?" Stanford asked, leaning to tell Fiddleford, "Imagine me by your side. Having you pleasure yourself, growing even larger and rounder still as I watch. Even grander a specimen for me to study."

"Sorry, I'm good with the ones I've got," said Fiddleford plainly. "He turned around to all fours, waggling his rump in the air. "But by all means, mount away."

The words had scarcely left his mouth when Stanford latched onto his back with both hands, uttering a groan against the back of the little man's neck. Fiddleford found himself swooning at the touch-- even moreso as he felt a blunt tip rolling around the pucker of his asshole, pressing past yielding muscle…

Then came the aching. Fiddleford gave a conflicted sound from low in his throat, one hand dropping to his stomach to rub at the sudden pangs.

"Mmm, yes... I can tell how good it feels," Stanford purred between gliding jabs inside. "They're stretching you, aren't they?"

"Ugh...! I-it hurts... but... in a good way? Ohhh, it feels so ODD!" Fiddleford gushed to him, bucking into his boss's thrusts with a twisted grin. "Please don't stop!"

"Ohhh..." Stanford moaned, cupping a six-fingered hand over the little man's already-larger belly to better support him. "That smile of yours, being rutted into when you're already this plump and full of life... I don't even know a word for what you look like right now."

Someone spoke up from outside the cage, but Fiddleford couldn't make out the suggestion.

"Gorgeous," Stanford repeated slowly, rolling the new term around in his mouth. He bent back down to nuzzle his chin against Fiddleford's cheek, hearing the man underneath him gasp and wail with each tender push in and away, and back in. "Yes. Gorgeous, gorgeous, you're _gorgeous..."_

Fiddleford howled, nearly overwhelmed. His hand had fallen back to his stomach, which he could actually feel stretching wider, inch by tightening inch. "They're growing so fast! I-I didn't know they could…!" he panted, trailing off.

"They're smart, like their host," came Stanford's voice, calm and reassuring. The thrusts started coming faster, making meaty _spap-spap-spap_ slaps as Stanford's balls smacked lightly against Fiddleford's cheeks. "They can tell when you're getting good and _fucked."_

The way he cursed made Fiddleford's heart and groin both flutter, but the playful, daring edge in what Stan said next had him moaning.

"Do you want me even bigger? I can be as huge as your gorgeous little body can take. Plug you up nice and tight..."

All Fiddleford could do was shout his approval and twist back on the massive cock growing even larger to fill him, as Stanford squeezed and rolled against that tantalizing nerve bundle that had him seeing stars behind his squinted-shut eyes, ramming it over and over. "God Stanford _yes_ I'm gonna--" was all he had time to choke out before he was coming sticky ropes all over the floor of the cell in time with the _"aah…!"_ s falling out of his mouth.

For a while, the only noise in the room was gasped breaths, and the furtive pencil scribbles from outside the cage.

Fiddleford raised his head, dripping sweat to the concrete floor, and cracked a weak smile at the tent in the pants of the Stanford outside.

The Stan still hard inside him cuddled him close with broad, warm arms, breathing a supremely pleased "My favorite specimen." into Fiddleford's hair, as he rubbed a splayed hand across the cargo hanging low and heavy inside the older man's guts.

Fiddleford's eyes snapped open behind his glasses. He knew that twinge rippling through him. "Ohhh, they're wantin' out already!" he said with alarm, arching his back to rock the body above him loose from his own.

"They're coming?" Stanford-- no, the Shapeshifter, as peachy flesh blobbed back to a cave-pale white-- said, excitement raising its voice. "Wonderful! I can't wait to meet them!"

Fiddleford felt the first one inching down, ready to be pushed out with the goop stirred thick inside him only minutes ago. "You're not gonna have long to wait," he said through a strangled groan, as he spread his legs wider…

\------

Fiddleford stood in front of the dumpster, the knotted plastic bag full of eggs weighing just as heavy on his conscience as in his hands. He shrugged his shoulders to ward off errant flies, drawn by the meals to be found inside.

"It… couldn't _really_ hurt, could it…?" he whispered to the cold evening air, as he tore open the bag from the top and fished out the largest egg he could see. He held it in one hand, feeling the heft of it. The warmth still radiating from whatever was inside.

He gulped a nervous breath, then slipped the egg into the inside pocket of his coat, swatting at a fly landing atop the fabric bulge. With a groan to lift the top and a lunge of his arm, the rest of the brood fell to join the graveyard of their many siblings.

"It'll be all right," Fiddleford told the warm sphere in his pocket, as he walked over to his car and got inside, slamming the door behind him. "Nobody'll ever even know…"

 

[to be concluded in Chapter 7]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy...! So it's finally revealed this fic's a continuation of my other fics, "A Night To Remember" and "Experiment 1A: Stanford [now Stanley] Pines"! Enjoy your pointless trivia for the day.


	7. Departing

It was the familiar warmth in his guts he noticed first. And the tautness there, like a ripe watermelon.

Fiddleford skimmed a hand down, and further down, his stretchmarked sphere of a belly. Over the bump of his navel. A tiny voice inside his head reminded him this must mean he was dreaming; he'd promised himself he wasn't going to carry eggs anymore. Right?

Fiddleford's eyes flickered open to the Shapeshifter cage bars. He arched his head back, mouth opening for a joyous whimper. Stanford was hunched over on top of him. Fucking him. Mercilessly. He could feel the tip of Stan's erection slurping sloppily against the largest clutch of eggs he'd swollen to hold yet. So massive was the legacy deposited in his insides, the edge of Fiddleford's belly was swaying and brushing against the concrete floor of the cell.

And even more were on their way. As Stanford bucked his hips with a grunt, yet another wet string of eggs squirted into Fiddleford's depths, bloating his stomach up impossibly larger to drag along the concrete. Fiddleford greeted the weight with a happy howl.

_"Cmm smm!"_ A voice called to him, faint as a sigh.

Fiddleford paused with Stanford still dick-deep inside him, heaving and dripping sweat. "What's that?" he asked the air.

The chalk-pale glob by his face tilted its top half like a caterpillar, blinking dull gray eyes without pupils. "Can't see!" it repeated.

Fiddleford froze rock-still with his legs spread wide, watching all the dozens and dozens of Shapeshifter spawn burrow their way out of the concrete ground. Stanford's limbs had hardened like metal poles around his, trapping Fiddleford there on all fours, forcing him to watch his blobby dead-eyed offspring lurch towards him from amidst the ruins of their eggshells. "Can't see!" they each cried mournfully. "Can't see!"

"Can't see! Can't see!" he heard muffled through the baby-Shapeshifter-sized bumps suddenly pressing out from beneath his skin, ready to chew through at any moment...

Fiddleford woke up in a haze of sweat.

He panted there in bed a few moments before heaving a sigh, realizing why his nightmare had been so bad; his bladder was all but bursting. That was all it was, right? Simple body functions. Right.

"Be right back, hun'," he whispered to Gina. His wife made a small sound, shifting under the covers, and went back to sleep.

Fiddleford stood there at the toilet, staring down at the limp prick in his hand, before sliding back his foreskin and letting go, groaning out his relief as he heard the stream sprinkle on and on into the water... He shook his head. Only a week ago, he'd been ballooned out so tight with eggs that he couldn't see over his stomach. Back then, he could only listen for the splash from the bowl in response whenever he needed a quick piss-- which was often, given all the cargo sagging against his bladder. Thankfully, he'd had enough time to have the bathroom floor scrubbed squeaky-clean for Gina's return.

He glanced over his slight belly paunch as he shook off; his returned-to "normal." It still seemed unreal-- as much a dream as what he'd just woken from.

He was about to slip back under the bedsheets when a clatter from downstairs stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm just gonna, uh. Check on Rover," he said, in case his wife was awake.

"Nnn. You sure you don't want me to check on him?" Gina murmured. "You've been looking after him the whole time..."

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you t'do that. He was... messed up pretty good after I found that truck'd hit him," Fiddleford fibbed quickly. "You just go on back to bed. He'll keep."

His wife turned around under the covers, and went silent. Fiddleford waited to make sure she was out, then hurried down to the basement.

He opened the door carefully, as one would when a cat or dog might try escaping underfoot, but he found no such trouble. Closing the door behind him, he started down the steps slowly, flicking on the light switch when he came to it.

And yelped, as he found himself staring right into his own face.

"Good job...!" he praised the young Shapeshifter without thinking. A new form taken  _was_ a new form taken, after all.

'Rover,' as Fiddleford had hastily taken to calling his new 'pet,' bobbed up and down in place, its face lit up in delight behind its glasses. It began shifting to all manner of things left in the McGucket family basement: a stepladder, a hammer, a wielding torch, the trash bin, an empty bag of peanuts left in the trash...

Fiddleford could only stare in frightened awe at how quickly his hatchling was learning. He flinched when his offspring took its natural form-- a much smaller, blobbier version of what languished in a cage down in Stanford's bunker, only with bright, pupilless blue eyes... the same blue as Fiddleford's own.

As though sensing it had scared him, Rover quickly shifted back to a slightly shorter dopple of Fiddleford.

"Good. Good Rover," Fiddleford said. He scooped his smaller self into his arms, marveling at how lightweight it was, and cuddled it tight, patting the back of its nightshirt awkwardly. "You just stay down here, and everything'll be all right."

The smaller Fiddleford chittered to him with an alien-sounding coo. It closed its blue eyes and nuzzled its forehead against his chest. "Alwight," it repeated in a falsetto attempt at his own voice.

After a moment's wary silence at how it was learning to talk, Fiddleford rocked his mirror image to sleep, pausing when the body in his arms shrank to a small sluglike blob once more.

Fiddleford stared down with harrowed eyes at the bulge already starting to swell from inside Rover's right shoulder. Its very first cluster of eggs, ripening in their sac, a mere two days after its own hatching.

"Lord, Fiddleford," he muttered quietly, shaking his head at Rover's innocent snoozing face. "What the fresh hell do y'think you're doin'..."

\-------

When the call from Stanford came, it was almost a relief.

"Fiddleford? I, I wouldn't--"

The Shapeshifter's voice was clear, even through the form of the fire elemental Stanford had happened to show it a picture of once. _"LIED TO MEEEEE!!"_

"I wouldn't come into work for a few days. Uh. I let some... info slip... about the eggs..."

Fiddleford could hear his own dopple's voice in the background, a thousand times more furious: "HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS. I _TRUSTED_ YOU."

"Are you all right?" Fiddleford was quick to ask, through a shudder.

"Huh? Oh, sure. Don't worry about me." There was a pause. "How strong would you say that cryogenic container you designed would be against  _fire_ , though?"

"Turn it on, and you should be fine against anything," said Fiddleford, adding a heartfelt "I'm sorry."

"You and me both," said Stanford gravely from the other end, as another inhuman screech blared through the receiver, and the end from the lab hung up.

Fiddleford hung up his end of the phone slowly, shoulders sinking with guilt-- only to yelp upon seeing Rover, who'd quietly been watching Fiddleford this whole time from the top of the basement stairs. Rover wagged its nub of a tail, scuttling down the steps to nuzzle against its mother's legs with a helium purr.

"You're sure gettin' affectionate," Fiddleford remarked, eyeing the uncomfortable-looking egg bulge swelling Rover's left shoulder wide.

His breath froze in his throat as Rover began to hump his leg, a tiny ovipositor slinking out from between its many legs. "N-no. No, stop that," he told it. It obeyed, the flesh slinking back into its tangle of spiderlike feet.

Five days, and Rover was looking to breed. At this point, he couldn't tell whether he was excited by the news or not.

\-------

His wife was sound asleep, when he made his move. He hadn't been able to fall asleep in days.

"Like me," he told Rover, patting his own chest there in the basement. Rover obeyed, squelching to a perfect copy of Fiddleford, nightgown and all.

"And... like him," he beckoned, holding out the photo of Stanford in his hand. "You can do it."

Rover studied the picture a moment, tilting Fiddleford's head to the side, before transforming into his boss from the neck up.

Fiddleford took a long, deep breath, never taking his eyes off his offspring. Off came his nightgown, tossed to the floor. He stood there, naked as the day he was born.

The words were harder to say than he expected. "And... and like this," he said, motioning from his own neck down.

Rover obeyed, down to the erection just starting to inch upwards from its crotch.

Fiddleford stared at Stanford's face for a long, long time. He started to say something. And stopped, bunching his clenched, trembling fist to his mouth.

"I can't do it," he mumbled, tears welling up behind his glasses. He crumpled to his knees, sobbing. "Oh god, what made me think I could do it..."

Rover squished back to its natural state, fidgeting its limbs over Fiddleford's hunched form with worried eyes.

Fiddleford pulled the little Shapeshifter into a hug, burying his forehead against Rover's neck, his body shuddering with guilty sobs. "I was seriously gonna keep you down here! To  _breed_ you!  _Forever...!_ How could I even think of...?!" His voice was drowned out by his blubbering.

Another head-tilt. "For..ever?" Rover asked, squinting blue eyes at the unfamiliar word.

Fiddleford fought back a sliver of self-control, snuffling against his bare arm. He grabbed his nightgown from the floor and tossed it back over his head, scooping Rover up in his arms as soon as he was clothed again.

"We're going for a ride," he said.

\-------

Rover unlatched its seatbelt with one of its spindly, pointed limbs and ambled down from the passenger's side of Fiddleford's old Coupe, looking around curiously at the open field they'd driven out to.

Fiddleford followed its path, shutting the car doors behind them.

They waited there, in the dark. The sun began to rise over the trees, coloring the sky in faded purples and pinks.

A wild doe leapt out into the nearby clearing of grass to nibble the leaves off a branch. At the sight of the two, it froze in place, wet black eyes staring wide.

Two wet black eyes stared back at her from Fiddleford's side, looking just as startled.

Fiddleford swallowed the lump catching in his throat and petted down the new deer's neck. "Go on. It's better this way."

The doe dopple looked at him, tilting its head. Seeing his proud smile, through his trembling lower lip.

Two deer dashed off into the woods.

Fiddleford returned to his car and slammed the door shut, turning his key in the ignition.

The tears didn't come until he got home.

\------

Gina was there in the living room, waiting for him. She bounded up to him, not bothering to ask why he was awake at such an early hour, nor why his eyes were so red, simply grabbing around his chest and pulling him into a hug, her joy all but dancing off of her body like electricity.

"You'll never believe it! The nurses finally got back to me! You know how I couldn't shake that sick feeling since I got back?"

Fiddleford blinked at her, not following. "Yeah...?"

"I'm  _pregnant!"_ Gina said with a whoop before hugging him once more. "You're gonna be a  _dad!"_

The news knocked the wind out of him for more reasons than one. "That's... _great_ news, hun'," he told her quietly, returning her near-chokehold of an embrace.

Gina was so proud of him. Once he heard he was going to be a father, he hadn't stopped crying all day...


End file.
